


love will see you through

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26776018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: “You’re sure you can’t come?” He asks, chewing on his bottom lip. Jordan’s expression remains the same – wide, sad eyes and red cheeks. “Like, not at all? Can’t you rearrange some stuff?”“I would if I could – you know that,” Jordan says, sighing. He seems dejected. “But they want me to do some charity work and it’s non-negotiable, apparently, I don’t know. Gareth had that real quiet, low toned voice on, and he’s kind of scary when he gets like that. I’m not arguing with him.”Virgil fails to see how anyone could ever be scared of Gareth Southgate.
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	love will see you through

**Author's Note:**

> something short and sweet because i'm having a rough week.
> 
> inspired by [this picture](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/post/630854783185698816)
> 
> sorry to any germans who may read this.
> 
> feedback always appreciated xx

Virgil is disappointed, and he’s not afraid to admit that.

“You’re sure you can’t come?” He asks, chewing on his bottom lip. Jordan’s expression remains the same – wide, sad eyes and red cheeks. “Like, not at all? Can’t you rearrange some stuff?”

“I would if I could – you know that,” Jordan says, sighing. He seems dejected. “But they want me to do some charity work and it’s non-negotiable, apparently, I don’t know. Gareth had that real quiet, low toned voice on, and he’s kind of scary when he gets like that. I’m not arguing with him.”

Virgil fails to see how anyone could ever be scared of Gareth Southgate.

“If you’re sure,” Virgil says, backing down only because he has to. He crosses his arms over his chest and tries not to pout.

“I am,” Jordan says, without a hint of malice. He squeezes Virgil’s bicep and then reaches up to kiss him softly, like he’s trying to make things better.

What would make things better is if he could come see Virgil play, but that doesn’t look like it’s happening. Jordan is injured and, technically, free and he _still_ can’t come.

He forces himself not to be down about it, because they’ve only got a few hours left before international break calls. He doesn’t want those remaining minutes to be soured by his bad mood.

.

He takes his bad mood back to the Netherlands instead.

Even his mum, when she comes to Rotterdam for the day and meets him for dinner, tells him off for his grumpy face. He pouts and says that he can’t help it. He’s _tried_ to cheer up, he really has – but the only thing that would cheer him up is his Jordan.

Gini is staying away from him, which is making him feel even more down. Virgil gets it: he’s just had a baby and he’s living in that new-addition-to-the-family warm little glow, and he doesn’t want to ruin that.

It’s fine. Virgil doesn’t want to ruin it either.

He doesn’t care too much. He’s got Nathan and Joel. Even Marten comes into his room for a chat sometimes. He’s fine with them.

Or that’s what he keeps telling himself.

The one place he doesn’t take his bad mood is onto the pitch. He’s a different person when he pulls that jersey on, whether it’s red or orange – it doesn’t matter. Personal stuff doesn’t matter. He’s lucky enough that Jordan is the same, too.

He plays like he always has done. Fearless and confident, with no thoughts of Jordan running through his head. They beat Northern Ireland three nil and he’s glad about it, because secretly he was a little worried.

They talk, of course. Every night Jordan calls, FaceTimes when he can – often with added visitors when Trent and Joey barge into his room, and, on occasion, Eric Dier (although he’s a little shyer about it than the other two) – and they text all day, but it’s not the same. It’s never the same as crawling into bed with Jordan and kissing his warm cheek, waking up next to him and getting a beaming smile, slipping a hand under his sweatshirt when they’re watching TV.

Nothing could ever be the same as that. Nothing could ever live up to it. 

The second game, at home against Estonia, he’s still disappointed when he doesn’t see Jordan’s face in the crowd. He probably wouldn’t be able to spot him even if he _was_ there.

He gives Ragnar a quick hug before kick off and then all thoughts of Jordan are gone. Well, sort of - he's always in Virgil's head, underneath it all. Like a quiet little current that rages to a twister when he lets his mind slip.

(It's a good job he likes twisters).

By half time, they’re three up. He’s glad of it and he makes a point of not making eye contact with Ragnar as he makes his way down the tunnel, because he hates to see that look on his face. He never looks at opposition players he knows at half time.

Except the Germans – he gladly looks when it’s the Germans. He revels in that look on their smug little faces.

When he’s walking off the pitch, he notices something. Or rather, he notices someone. Someone who looks familiar – same shade of sandy hair, same blue eyes. Same wide, bright grin. 

And he’s looking right at Virgil.

“Oh, my god,” Virgil mutters, out loud and at nobody in particular. He stops walking and Marten bumps into his back, grumbling obscenities in Dutch. Virgil’s not taking any of it in, which is probably for the best considering Marten gets a little creative with his insults. 

“Hi,” Jordan mouths, waving at Virgil from the stands.

Virgil doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything. Jordan laughs at him, mouth hidden poorly behind his hand, but it’s okay. Virgil knows he's being ridiculous, and he grins.

Jordan gestures down the tunnel, asking to speak down there, and Virgil nods.

Time to find out what's going on.

.

"I thought you weren't coming," Virgil says, crushing Jordan in a hug the moment he's close enough. He can feel Jordan laugh, breath puffing warmly against his neck. "What are you doing here?" 

"Managed to move some things around," Jordan says, pressing his sly grin into Virgil's neck. He tangles his fingers in the back of Virgil's sweaty jersey like maybe he's missed him just as much as Virgil had missed him, too. "Spoke to Gareth."

"You came out to him?" Virgil asks, pulling back and raising an eyebrow. Jordan always insists that he doesn't spend enough time at St George's Park to let the staff know. Now, though, he shrugs, cheeks a little pink. "How did that go?"

"Awkward - you know what he's like," Jordan says dismissively. His cheeks turn a deeper shade of red, and Virgil smiles at the sight. "It was worth it for you, though. I know how much you wanted me to see you play."

Virgil laughs in disbelief and pulls Jordan back in for a crushing hug. "I love you," he says simply.

"I love you too," Jordan whispers, pinching Virgil's side gently. "You'd better go - you need to hear what Ronald's got to say."

"I'm sure I've heard what he's got to say plenty of times," Virgil dismisses.

He's got ten minutes to drink this in, and that's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


End file.
